


Six-Hour Contract

by Laylah



Category: Star Ocean: The Last Hope
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Community: kink_bingo, Crowe tops everybody, Dom/sub, Flogging, M/M, SSC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you interested in a short-term contract?" Crowe asks. They could probably both use a chance to blow off a little steam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six-Hour Contract

Crowe doesn't have long to make the decision—the Phantom invasion won't wait for them to sort out their relationship needs—and it isn't any easy one. He misses Edge and Reimi, but he can't just stay with them; he's captain of the only other scout-class ship they still have. The next temptation is to be selfish, and keep his crew the way it is: he _could_ spare Arumat, but he doesn't want to. The sparks that fly between them are intoxicating. It's not the same as Edge pushing back and being prickly about submitting. Arumat _is_ another top, and Crowe has never had anything quite like their struggle for control. Edge and Reimi are managing without a top right now, aren't they?

But they're his submissives, his responsibility, and he can see how exhausted they are. "Arumat," Crowe says. "I want you to go with them in my place."

Both Edge and Reimi stiffen slightly at that, eyes widening as they take in what it means. Edge's chin comes up in reflexive defiance, and Reimi's shoulders straighten, as Arumat looks them up and down. "Fine," Arumat says. "When we've mopped up the problem here, we'll join you." He looks back at Crowe. "Take care of the refugee fleet."

"You have my word," Crowe says. He's going to be sorry to leave them all here, but it's temporary, right? He can put the mission's needs before his own.

And then the other Eldarian, Faize, steps up. "Please take me with you, sir," he says to Crowe. "Let me help protect the refugees." He's not looking at Arumat so determinedly that Crowe can't help glancing over. The corner of Arumat's mouth curls up in amusement. Bad personal history? There isn't time to go into it now.

"If you're coming with me, you'll follow my orders," Crowe says.

Faize reacts instantly, straightening into a trained at-rest pose, his lips parting and his cheeks flushing. "Yes, sir," he says.

Crowe nods. "All right," he says. "We don't have much time. Let's go."

Edge meets his eyes for just a second before they part, and damn but the strength there makes him proud. "See you soon," Edge says.

*

They barely make it out of orbit in time. The Eldarian refugee fleet is huge—which is a good thing, Crowe keeps reminding himself; that means there are a lot of people who've made it this far—and they have to make the jump into warp space in relays. The Phantoms show up before they've gotten the last team off, and the _Aquila_ has to engage them, outnumbered and outgunned. One of the refugee ships takes a hit, and Crowe misses Arumat's gunning expertise badly, but Faize is a first-rate pilot, and they manage to draw most of the Phantom fighters' attention. The last refugee ships disappear into warp space and Faize barely needs instruction before he's sending the _Aquila_ after them, losing the Phantoms—for now—in the dimensional shift.

Crowe slumps back against his chair, the adrenaline still humming along his nerves. "Standard warp space protocol," he says. "Crew are released from their stations until we begin our approach to the exit point. You have...how long, Faize?"

"Approximately six hours, sir," Faize says.

"Six hours," Crowe repeats. "Do what you need to do to recharge, people. This isn't over yet."

The bridge crew get up, stretching, leaving the controls to the automated systems. Entering and exiting warp space is nerve-wracking, but traversing it is pretty smooth. Crowe gives them a minute to get ahead of him before he gets up to follow. He could use a little down time himself, and he's curious about his new volunteer.

He finds Faize practicing sword work, not in the battle simulator but in one of the half-empty storage bays at the rear of the main deck. Faize stops, sheathing his blade and coming to attention when Crowe walks in.

"At ease," Crowe says. Faize shifts into a relaxed, alert posture, his shoulders and the soft line of his mouth suggesting receptiveness with a subtle elegance that Crowe can't help admiring. "You're comfortable on the ship, I hope?"

"Yes, sir," Faize says. He pauses briefly. "Edge and Reimi speak highly of you. Thank you for taking me aboard."

Crowe nods. "Of course." He comes closer, steps past Faize well within arm's reach, stops at a point just behind him and out of his line of sight. Faize's breathing quickens slightly, but he doesn't move. "You seemed reluctant to be on a team with Arumat. You have history with him?"

"No, sir," Faize says. "I only know him by reputation."

"And what reputation is that?" Crowe asks.

"As captain of the Thirteenth Independent Armored Division, he's one of the most dangerous fighters in the Eldarian military," Faize says. He hesitates for a moment. "And he is rumored to be an exceptionally demanding and...sometimes unpredictable dominant."

Unpredictable, huh? Well, that's one word for it. Crowe paces around to stand in front of Faize again, waiting for Faize to look up and meet his eyes. "Does that not appeal to you?"

Faize's cheeks flush, and he drops his gaze after only a moment. Crowe fights down the temptation to force him to look up again. "It's intimidating. Sir. I am...not yet very experienced in either arena."

"But your instincts are good," Crowe says. "You could learn." He licks his lips. "Are you contracted to anyone right now?"

"No, sir," Faize says hoarsely.

From what Arumat told Crowe, it sounds like Eldarians are pretty big on formality—contracts, time limits, defined safewords no matter the communication protocol between dominant and submissive otherwise. Arumat's Thirteenth tended to play fast and loose with those rules, but Faize is probably more of a traditionalist. "Are you interested in a short-term contract?" Crowe asks. They could probably both use a chance to blow off a little steam. "Just until we need to come out of this warp."

Faize looks up to meet his eyes again. "Yes, _please_ , sir," he says.

Crowe takes Faize's chin in one hand and holds him still, leaning down to seal the offer with a kiss. Faize's mouth opens instantly for him, pliable and welcoming. Edge never surrendered that completely without a fight, and even Reimi pushed back more than this; Faize submits without half measures or hesitation. By the time he draws back, Crowe is aching with the need to see how far that willingness extends. "Follow me," he says.

"Sir." Faize keeps a precise two paces behind him as they leave the storage bay and head up to the crew's quarters on the upper deck. The door to the captain's quarters opens for Crowe's passcode, and he gestures for Faize to precede him inside.

As the door seals shut again behind them, Crowe asks, "What's your usual safeword?"

"Winter," Faize says. It's an interesting choice, and Crowe almost wants to ask him about it—later, maybe. They only have a few hours of downtime right now.

"Good," Crowe says. "Strip for me."

Faize looks surprised for a moment, as if he's expecting more preamble, but he doesn't hesitate for more than a few seconds before he's unbuckling his belt and starting on the fastenings of his jacket. He strips quickly, efficiently, setting his clothes neatly aside. Taking off his thick-soled boots costs him a good seven or eight centimeters of height, making him look almost delicate, but his slight frame is still attractively muscled. The curls between his thighs are a darker, earthier shade than the hair on his head, and his cock isn't hard yet, though it's starting to thicken as Crowe studies him.

When Crowe only watches him for a moment, Faize swallows visibly and says, "I await your orders, sir."

"That's right," Crowe says with a smile. "You do."

Edge argues when he pulls rank like that, but Faize just ducks his head in contrition. "My apologies, sir."

"Apology accepted," Crowe says. "You won't do it again." Saying so out loud means Faize can take it as an order, but honestly it's just the truth; he's the kind of submissive who doesn't fight his role. "How are you with pain?"

"I don't seek it out," Faize says, with just a hint of nervousness in his voice. "But I will do my best not to disappoint you."

"You'll do fine," Crowe says. He comes around to stand behind Faize, trails his gloved fingertips down between Faize's shoulderblades. "I'd like to flog you. I won't ask for anything heavier than that until we know each other better."

Faize's breathing is audible, slightly shaky. "Starting with the basics, sir?"

Crowe smiles. "Something like that," he says. He wraps his hands around Faize's upper arms and slides them down to circle the delicate bones of Faize's wrists. Faize whimpers. "I want to bind you," Crowe says, leaning down to murmur the words in Faize's ear, "I want to beat you, and then I want to fuck you."

"Yes," Faize whispers. "Yes."

Crowe pins Faize's hands at the small of his back and steers him over to the edge of the bed. "Kneel," he says, pressing Faize forward so he'll plant his knees on the mattress. When Crowe releases his hands, he doesn't move, just holds his position with his wrists pressed neatly together. "Good," Crowe says. "Stay right there. I won't be long."

He steps away so he can unseal the chest on the other side of the room and get out his toys. He hasn't had much reason to use them since the mission started; he got separated from Edge and Reimi so quickly, and then things with Arumat were too much of a constant contest for them to use anything that wasn't improvised. Now he retrieves his smallest set of cuffs, floggers in three different weights, and a scarf of rich purple silk he picked up on En II—he'd thought it would look good on Reimi, but it'll probably be just as appealing on Faize.

Faize hasn't moved, hasn't turned to watch, but from the tension in his posture when Crowe comes back over, it looks as though he's trying to listen for cues of what's coming next. Crowe lays out the floggers on the edge of the bed beside him, taking the scarf first. "You're very patient," he says.

"I try, sir," Faize murmurs. "Oh." He stiffens slightly when Crowe wraps the silk around his eyes, and Crowe pauses for a moment to see if he'll protest, but Faize takes a few deep breaths and relaxes back against Crowe's chest without complaint. Crowe smiles, tying off the blindfold carefully so he doesn't pull Faize's hair with it.

"Gorgeous," Crowe says. The contrast is striking, and simply stripping and blindfolding him already makes Faize look so _vulnerable_. Crowe lets himself feel the desire that thought spurs, lets himself savor it without letting it rule him. Faize agreed to everything he asked for, and he intends to enjoy that.

He takes the cuffs, soft and pliable but strong, and buckles them around Faize's wrists. When they're comfortably snug, he coaxes Faize's hands up above his head, fastening the cuffs to each other and then hooking them into one of the attachment points in the rail above.

Bound, Faize looks even more tempting. Crowe strokes his flanks, runs slow hands up his sides, presses close against his back to breathe heat against his nape. Faize leans back into him, pushing into his hands. Crowe bites the smooth curve where Faize's neck meets shoulder, and Faize shudders. Crowe slides one hand forward and down, finding Faize's cock mostly hard now. He might like to take his gloves off and feel it more directly, but the way Faize mewls at the ribbed aramid texture is enough to make him wait. He strokes Faize's cock slowly, carefully frustrating the needy thrusts of Faize's hips, teasing him hard without bringing him anywhere near the edge.

"Please," Faize says. "Oh please, sir."

"You'll get more," Crowe promises. He takes Faize by the hips and pulls him back, grinding hard against his ass to enjoy a moment of friction. "But we have something else planned first."

Faize takes deep, shuddering breaths. "Yes, sir," he says.

Crowe steps back, stripping off his gloves and reaching for his lightest flogger. Its tails are soft, just heavy enough to build a little momentum; it's an easy piece to be gentle with. He takes a few swings from half a step too far back, so he doesn't connect, just lets Faize feel the movement of the air. Each pass makes Faize's shoulders draw up just a little tighter. Crowe pauses.

"Relax," he says. He corrects his distance as Faize tries to obey, and as Faize's shoulders ease, Crowe gives him a first easy stroke across his upper back.

Faize jumps, his breath huffing in surprise, but he doesn't hold onto the tension. "That didn't hurt," he says, sounding almost confused.

Crowe laughs. "Are you complaining?"

"No, sir," Faize says hurriedly.

"Good," Crowe says. In scene is no time to explain himself, not with a submissive who reads the way Faize does, so the rest of his answer is another warmup stroke with the flogger.

With someone like Reimi, who enjoys pain for its own sake, he doesn't even bother with toys this light unless he's trying to tease. But with someone like Faize, who craves submission more than the endorphin rush of masochism, he'd rather take the time to coax the body into being as receptive as the mind. Pushing past limits is too heavy for a first scene, not something he wants to try with a sub whose body language he's still learning.

He increases the intensity, slowly, putting more force behind the stroke, until he starts to feel a little of the warmth of exertion in his shoulder. Faize's back flushes a gentle, warm pink under the attention, and he makes sweet gasping and whimpering noises in the wake of each stroke. Crowe mentally thanks whatever top in Faize's past encouraged him to be so vocal.

When it looks like Faize is warmed up enough to take some heavier play, Crowe puts the first flogger down. He steps up to the edge of the bed, pressing against Faize's back and kissing his nape. "You're doing well," he says. "So lovely." He runs his hands up Faize's arms, taking hold of his bound hands and squeezing gently. Still warm; good.

"It feels good," Faize says. He leans back, twisting around to try to reach Crowe for a kiss, and Crowe indulges him. "You haven't asked me for anything I didn't like."

Crowe smiles against Faize's skin, running his hands down Faize's sides now, exploring his body casually, possessively. "I'm not done with you yet," he promises, and Faize shivers in anticipation. His balls are soft and heavy in Crowe's hand, and his cock stirs at Crowe's touch. Crowe strokes it for a minute, brushing more gentle kisses across Faize's beaten-warm back. Faize may be seeing this as just a six-hour contract, but Crowe tends to think of the first scene with a new submissive as part of the negotiation process—the practical demonstration of why someone should trust him further next time. "Can you take more for me?" he asks.

Faize nods. "Yes, sir," he says. "Gladly."

"That's what I like to hear," Crowe says. He gives Faize's cock one more encouraging stroke, then steps back to pick up a heavier flogger.

The first stroke with this one makes Faize gasp a soft "Oh!" but he relaxes after it without even needing to be reminded.

"Beautiful," Crowe says admiringly. He settles into a slow figure-eight rhythm; it'll be easier for Faize to stay receptive if he can anticipate when the next stroke will come. Between rounds, he pauses to murmur more words of encouragement, to run his fingertips over the flushed, hot skin of Faize's back, to feel the faintly raised welts from the impact. Faize is practically melting in his hands, giddy and pliable.

On one of those pauses, he finds Faize's hands starting to grow cold. Not much time left before he'll have to call a halt to this. "You're close to bruising," he says. "I'd like to mark you before I take you down. Is that all right?"

Faize nods without even hesitating. "I feel so good," he says, his voice thick with endorphins now. "And then you'll fuck me?"

"Yes," Crowe says. " _God_ , yes." He bites Faize's shoulder and Faize shudders for him, whimpering. "I'm going to give you ten more strokes. They'll be harder to take than the ones you've already had, but there will only be ten of them. I know you can be strong for me."

"I will," Faize says. "Please. Please go ahead."

Crowe steps back, picking up the third flogger. It isn't much heavier than the last one, but the tails end in small, dense knots that leave bruises easily. "Only ten like this," he says. "Make as much noise as you need to."

He puts his whole body into the motion when he strikes, and he can feel the thud of the first impact in his arm. Faize makes a beautiful sound of surrender, jerking against his cuffs, and Crowe strikes a second time before he can panic at the intensity. The second stroke earns a gasp, the third a whimper, and after that something clicks for Faize and he stops struggling. His cries turn to moans, and he squirms between strokes as if he misses the flogger's touch. The knots leave little rose-violet spots on his shoulders, marks that will darken into impressive bruises later.

It's almost tempting to keep going, when Faize has hit his rush so completely, but Crowe knows it's important for the future that he keep his word now. He'd have to move Faize in any case for his hands' sake, and with the rhythm already broken....

At ten strokes, Crowe lowers the flogger, watching Faize's shoulders rise and fall with gasping breaths. "Well done," Crowe says softly. "You've been so good." He puts the flogger down and steps up behind Faize to unclip the cuffs from the rail, leaving them fastened together. He guides Faize's hands down gently, his arms around Faize's body and his hands chafing Faize's to encourage warmth and circulation back into them.

"Thank you, sir," Faize says, his voice thick with pleasure. He nuzzles against Crowe, humming softly. "I feel good."

Crowe smiles. "We're not quite done," he says. 'You remember what else I wanted?"

Faize nods. "You're going to fuck me," he says. Crowe shivers at the matter-of-factness in his tone, and the contrast with Faize's crisp, demure politeness before the scene began.

"Yes," Crowe says. "Right here." He presses a hand to Faize's lower back, holding onto the cuffs with the other, and spreads Faize out across his bed on elbows and knees. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

He steps back, crossing the room to retrieve condoms and lube from the cabinet. After a second's thought, he unseals the top half of his uniform and peels out of it before he opens his pants. He doesn't think he really needs to work on putting Faize in subspace at this point, and he'd like to feel some more direct contact. He works a condom on and splits open a lube pack.

Faize opens up for his fingers with the smooth ease of total relaxation, rocking back against him and making tiny moans and sighs of delight. For someone who didn't think he liked pain, Faize takes to his endorphins really well.

"Ready for me?" Crowe says, slipping his fingers free.

Faize pushes back toward him, offering his ass. "Yes, sir, yes, please," he says.

"God," Crowe says. He lines up carefully and pushes, as slowly as he can make himself go—and fuck, that's good. Faize's ass is tight, but there's no resistance, just sweet, clutching heat. Crowe takes him by the hips and sinks in balls-deep, savoring the way Faize melts for him. Fucking someone who's already so blissed out makes it easy for him to get exactly the stroke he wants, slow, deep, and hard—not letting himself rush toward orgasm, letting it build slowly, as each stroke is a little more intense than the last. Faize is far gone enough that he seems to be enjoying this without even trying to push toward getting off, so Crowe decides to let him wait. Might as well let him get the full experience of the endorphin high.

The slow, steady pace becomes almost excruciating as Crowe gets closer to coming, but he doesn't speed up. Almost there, and it'll be so good, almost— _there_ , and he tips over the edge into the sweet, golden light of orgasm, gasping for breath.

"Mmn," Faize says as Crowe pulls out. "Good?"

"So good," Crowe says. He strips off the condom and tosses it, then climbs onto the bed himself. "Come here." He eases Faize's blindfold off and smiles at Faize's wide-eyed, blown-pupil expression. "How do you feel?"

"Shaky," Faize says contentedly. "Wobbly. Good." He curls up with his cuffed hands against Crowe's chest, and Crowe pets his hair. Faize hums.

"Yeah, this really got you, didn't it?" Crowe says. "We'll just stay here for a little while, and once you're less wobbly we'll go get a shower."

Faize twists his wrists to make the cuffs clink against each other. "With these still on?"

Crowe grins. "This contract does still have a few hours to go," he says. And once the endorphins have faded a bit more, Faize will probably remember that he wanted a chance to get off, too. Round two can be less painplay and more dominance games. "You think you'll be up for more?"

"Yes, sir," Faize says. He kisses Crowe's shoulder, and Crowe hugs him. "Yes."


End file.
